


Anoesis

by mahbecks



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: AU - Roman Empire, Are you not entertained?, Chill XV, Drama, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Gladiator!Gladio, Gladiators, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Referenced/Implied Violence, References to the movie Gladiator, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-23 23:25:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12000126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahbecks/pseuds/mahbecks
Summary: Emperor Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII has a task for Ignis - find someone worthy of teaching his son to fight, and quickly, before the Niflheim Empire brings their war to Lucis' doorstep. Desperate, he sends Ignis south to the ancient Amicitia gladiatorial school, hoping his one-time friend Clarus will be able to help.As it so happens, Clarus' son, Gladiolus, is undefeated in the arena, and Ignis thinks he may have just found the answer to his liege's problem.It doesn't hurt that Gladio is handsome, either. Not a bit.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I should not have written this. I should have spent today writing a chapter for the other (NUMEROUS, UNFINISHED) stories I've started. 
> 
> I'm not sorry. Mainly because Gladiator!Gladio (yes, fucking please). I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it!
> 
> A quick warning - this is very loosely based on the Roman Empire. Final Fantasy XV just goes so well with Roman history (I mean look at those poorly translated Latin names, for shame). That being said, there are things in Roman history that are, to put it lightly, icky - slavery, huge power imbalances between rich/poor, male/female, the butchering of animals in gladiatorial arenas, and the list goes on and on.  
>    
> This story is not at all historically accurate - I am taking great liberties with the setting, because, for example, if I don't have to make a setting as grossly misogynistic as Rome was, why would I? That being said, there are still some things that had to be included to make the story work - like gladiators (lol, duh, because the whole point of this is to see Gladio in a little leather outfit a la that Spartacus show that ran on Starz). Now, the only explicit scenes I intend on writing are sexual in nature, but there will be implied/referenced violence (of a non-sexual nature, rape/non-con is not my thing). My writing is generally pretty tame, but I wanted to throw that warning out there. I'll also put warnings on any additional chapters that might feature things that could be unsettling.  
>    
> I've also chosen to use anglicized words instead of their Latin counterparts, as well as modernized speech, just for ease of reading. :)  
>    
> tl;dr - It's an AU in an ancient Rome-esque setting that also happens to include our FF Chocobro's. If anything about ancient Rome squicks you, you might want to pass this by.

**anoesis: a state of mind consisting of pure sensation or emotion without cognitive content**

* * * * *

_Lunge._

Sidestep.

Pivot.

Guard your rear.

Gladiolus Amicitia had gone through the motions a thousand times - a thousand times a thousand times. It was muscle memory more than conscious thought at this point - slash, parry, dodge, defend, _attack._

His enemy today was his sister, Iris, eight years younger than him. She was new to fighting with a real blade, a blade of metal and not weighted wood, and it showed. Her arms flagged with weariness, muscles quivering with strain, and her footwork was getting sloppy.

Gladio stepped back, weapon falling listlessly to the side. Iris scowled at him, pointing her blade at his throat. “One more time!” she insisted, panting.

Gladio shook his head. “No.”

“Gladdy!” She scowled at him, blowing a piece of hair out of her eyes.

Gladio remained unfazed. “No,” he said again. He sheathed the sword at his waist, resting his hand on the hilt. “You’re too tired to keep going. We can go again tomorrow.” He turned, ready to call it a day after hours spent baking in the sun.

Behind him, he heard movement, and Gladio let out a longsuffering sigh.

He twisted out of the way, and Iris’ sword neatly sliced through the air where he’d stood just a moment before. Her momentum carried her forward, and she stumbled. Gladio slapped the blade out of her hand so she wouldn’t fall on it, the metal stinging his palm. His other hand reached out to steady her, helping her regain her balance.

She tore out of his grip, stubborn.

“I almost had you,” she said, grinning.

No, she hadn’t - and they both knew it. But Gladio grinned back, reaching down and plucking the sword from the ground. He handed it back to her, hilt first.

“Tomorrow?” she asked, eager.

“Tomorrow,” he agreed.

“Promise?”

“Of course.”

Together, they walked out of the arena and down the stairs into the cool shade of the lower levels. It was a bustle of activity here - fighters mending their leather gear or polishing their weapons to a bright, polished sheen, runners weaving between the bodies to deliver messages to their intended recipients, merchants hawking their wares. It was hard to hear himself think, let alone hear whatever Iris was might have wanted to say to him, and so Gladio kept quiet until they were out of the thick of things.   

“Going to see Father?” Iris guessed.

Gladio nodded. “He wants to know how your training’s going.”

“Best student you’ve ever had, right?” Iris guessed, winking.

“Damn straight,” he shot back.

“Flatterer.”

“Says the one fishing for compliments.”

Iris gave him a sheepish look before running off - to the baths, probably, to clean up before the evening meal. She was eager the learn the ways of the arena, and more than willing to get down and dirty to win. But she seemed to like getting clean after her fights even more than winning them.

Gladio couldn’t say he blamed her - after a long day of training new recruits and going through his own regimen for keeping in fighting shape, he was in sore need of a bath himself. Dirt and sand clung to his sweaty skin, and his hair was one thick tangle at the back of his neck. His father had once told him to shave his head and be done with it.

But he was perhaps a little too vain for that.

For the moment, a bath would have to wait. There were daily reports to be given, new orders to follow - and perhaps most importantly, news of the fight tomorrow.

He took the stairs to his father’s office two at a time, greeting the men and women he saw in passing with easy smiles and friendly waves. They all knew him, and not simply because of his familiar face - the Amicitia stature was legend in these parts. The men of the family line towered over the other men in the Lucian valley, and the women were much the same. It was a hallmark of their family line - and, no doubt, one of the reasons for their success in the gladiatorial ring. Height, reach, sheer muscle mass - any one could be the determining factor in a fight. If someone had all three…

Well.

There was a reason Gladio was undefeated.

The door at the top of the stairs stood open, voices drifting out from inside. “Voreteeth? Again?”

Gladio could hear the disdain in the voice. He smirked - that would be Cor Leonis, his father’s close friend and associate. A legend in the arena, Cor was all but retired, only the most dangerous and illustrious fights enough to call him to the ring.

Voreteeth would be no match for someone of Cor’s caliber.

“Blame the Emperor.” The second voice was deep and curt, tone no-nonsense and practical - Gladio recognized it too. It belonged to his father, Clarus. “It’s all they could find on such short notice.”   

Cor snorted.

“I don’t know what Regis is thinking,” Clarus continued. “A full spectacle, just days after the debacle in Cleigne?”

“Maybe it’s a distraction.”

“It’s obviously a distraction.” Clarus’ voice had gone flat. “He has to keep the people happy, so they don’t realize what’s going on and riot. If the tribunes get even a whiff of unhappiness-”

“I know,” Cor interrupted.

“Bread and circuses, Cor - and we sure as hell aren’t the bread.”

Gladio cleared his throat and walked through the door. Two sets of pale blue eyes turned towards him, and he ducked his head, as much in deference to their leadership as to apologize for eavesdropping. “I hear something about voreteeth?”

Clarus snorted. “For the newest recruits, perhaps,” he replied. “For you? Not a chance.” He sat down at the low wooden desk in the corner, pulling a piece of parchment towards him. There were no words that Gladio saw - instead, there was a rough sketch of some kind of animal, feline in shape, circular markings dotting its skin. “You’re the main entertainment.”

“A cat?”

Again, Cor snorted. “A coeurl,” he said, correcting Gladio. “Hell of a lot more dangerous than a _cat._ ”

“Why, the size?”

“They’re highly intelligent creatures,” his father interjected. “Fast, too. And this one’s an old, wily beast - caught it in Duscae, guarding a lair littered with bones and old animal carcasses.”

Gladio shrugged, unfazed. “How do I kill it?”

“You don’t.”

He blinked, turning to Cor. “What?”

“Orders from the Emperor himself - no killing,” Clarus explained. “He wants you to show off your fighting skills, not how good you are at butchering animals.”

Gladio bristled at that, brows snapping down over his eyes. He didn’t _butcher_ anything - what animals he did kill, he attempted to do so as humanely as possible, and he never prolonged their suffering. It wasn’t right, not when all they’d done was have the misfortune of being captured by poachers hoping to make a quick bit of money selling creatures to the gladiatorial schools. He’d have preferred to not kill them at all, but that wasn’t how it worked.

Not in this society.

“You’re to fight the coeurl, show off all of your skills - and then lure it in a cage in the middle of the field,” Clarus continued, not noticing Gladio’s frown. Or not bothering to comment on it, which may well have been the case. “We’ll take it back to Duscae afterwards.”

Gladio grunted in acknowledgement, crossing his arms over his chest. “Any reason in particular why I’m being put on display like this?” he asked.

His father and Cor shared a look, and Gladio’s frown deepened. They knew something - there was something here they weren’t telling him. Judging from his father’s expression, they weren’t going to tell him what it was, either.

“We’ll know for sure after the fight,” Clarus said evasively, still not looking at Gladio. “So make sure you win.” He stood, walking over to the open window and staring down at the stone amphitheater, workers busy scrubbing away at old stains, dead set on making the seats presentable for when the masses came to observe the fights tomorrow. “Your sister - how’s her training coming along?”

It was a blatant attempt at changing the subject. Gladio half-wanted to call him on it, continue to press for more information. But he knew that wasn’t likely to get him anywhere but his father’s bad side, and so he held his tongue on the matter.

“She’s good. Fast.”

“Faster than you?”

“She will be, someday.”

Clarus snorted, the barest hint of a smile tugging up at his lip.

“She needs to work on her strength training,” Gladio continued, intent on giving a full report even if it wasn’t what he really wanted to talk about. “And her skill with a sword needs improvement.”

“Does she prefer to fight with something else?”

“Pike. Increases her reach.”

Clarus nodded. “But she’s proficient with the sword?”

“Getting there.”

“Good.” He turned, the trace of a smile a full-fledged grin now. “Take her to the market after the fights tomorrow - see if you can’t find her a better weapon than what all we have here. Something more suited to her fighting style.” He reached down into a pocket at his belt, fingers emerging with a handful of coins.

Gladio took them, putting them in the leather pouch at his waist, and then turned on his heel, closing the door behind him. He recognized a dismissal when he heard one. And sure enough, neither Cor nor his father made any attempt to stop him.

Iris was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, her dark hair wet and sticking to her face. Gladio raised an eyebrow at her, not surprised when she fell in step beside him.

“We’re going to the market tomorrow?” she asked, excited.

“To get you a _weapon,"_  Gladio said, unfazed that she’d been listening in on the conversation. “Nothing else.”

“Sure,” she said easily, grinning up at him. “But I’ll bet you anything he gave you more money than you needed.”

Gladio remembered the sight of the coins his father had pressed into his hands, recalled the sheer weight of the pile. It was enough to buy two blades, two _quality_ blades - unlikely an oversight on his part.

Clarus Amiticia didn’t make oversights.

“So what are you going to buy?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, come on, Gladdy-”

“I don’t need anything,” he said, shrugging.

She shot him a flat look. “You know, sometimes, shopping isn’t something you do because you _need_ something,” she replied.

“Not for me.”

He stopped just outside the entrance to the men’s baths, turning to face Iris. She had already stepped back, adjusting the straps of the thin dress she’d donned.

“He’s proud of you, you know.”

Iris blinked. “He said so?”

Gladio snorted. “You know he doesn’t say stuff like that.”

She made a face at him. “Then how could you tell he was proud?”

“Just could. You could see it in his face.”

That seemed to satisfy Iris, a warm smile breaking out on her face. “And you? Are you proud of me?”

“You know I am.”

“Yeah,” she said, slipping forward and giving him a hug. “I do.” She pulled back, nose wrinkling. “No, go, take a bath - you stink.”

He laughed, shooing her away. “You’re the one who hugged me,” he reminded her.

“We all make mistakes,” she shot back. “I’ll see you later?”

“Later,” he agreed.

Iris danced off, vanishing into the crowd, and Gladio turned, finally intent upon getting clean.

The passage to the baths was dim, the large stone blocks cancelling out much of the outside noise. Within moments, it was virtually silent, voices replaced with the quiet dripping of water upon rock, the splashing of a disturbed pool. It was relaxing after a day filled with noise and harsh sunlight - comforting, even, and as he stepped into the fragrant set of rooms, he breathed in deep. 

Only one other man was in the main bathing chamber, lounging at one end of the long, narrow pool. He nodded at Gladio and then turned his back, attempting to afford him some measure of privacy. Gladio was grateful for that - people stared at him day in and day out, on the arena floor and off. He hardly needed it in the baths as well.

He stripped off his gear, setting it in a pile on a stone bench. His sandals were next, followed by his weapons. He should have gone to his quarters first and left them there. But he hadn’t thought about it as he’d left his father’s office, and now, here he was, already half-submerged beneath the warm, swirling waters. It was no matter, really. He didn’t plan on staying for an extended period of time. There was too much to do, too much to think about - most of all, what his father wasn’t telling him.

It had to be something serious, he thought as he took a deep breath and sank below the surface, smoothing a hand back over his head. If it was nothing, he would’ve been told the full truth. If it was nothing, his father wouldn’t have bothered to hide it. If it was nothing, Cor wouldn’t be involved.

He stood a moment later, blinking to clear the water from his eyes.

He’d mentioned the Emperor - Regis? That was… odd.

His father and the Emperor didn’t speak - not since the old days. Gladio wasn’t sure what had happened between them to cause the rift. He’d never asked. But two men who had started out as the best of friends, closer than some brothers, barely spoke anymore, and to the best of Gladio’s knowledge, they hadn’t seen each other in years.

And now the man wanted to see Gladio fight? Or, at the very least, he was sending someone to watch Gladio fight?

Gladio scowled down at the dirt on his arm, sloughing it off with the flat of his hand.

This whole thing didn’t make much sense. He was a good gladiator, yes - one of the best. Their school was renowned all throughout the Lucian Valley. But they weren’t exactly close to the Lucian capital, Insomnia, and there were better fighters out there - men without his bulk, men who made up for a lack of size with speed, agility, and deadly precision. Why wouldn’t the Emperor go to one of them, if he was in need of entertainment?

Why come all the way here?

And why now?

So many questions - and Gladio had no answers. With a sigh, he pushed himself up out of the bathing pool and grabbed his leathers, strapping them on with practiced fingers. He’d only been in the water a few minutes, barely enough time to deem himself clean - but he would find no rest here, staring up at the tiny bit of blue sky peeking between the columns high above. If he wanted information, he was going to have to find it himself.

And the best place to do that was to go where the food and wine flowed freely.

* * * * *

_Be my eyes, Ignis. Be my ears. Watch, listen, observe._

The Emperor’s words rang in Ignis’ ears, as if he had said them moments ago and not weeks. They were weighty, full of meaning - he couldn't forget them now, not even if he had tried.

He was not here on holiday. He was not here to enjoy the gladiatorial spectacles. He was here to watch, to carefully observe the fighting and find a suitable teacher for the Emperor’s son, Noctis.

It was imperative that he succeed in his mission. The war with the Niflheim Empire was going poorly, the Lucian legions crushed at Duscae. Regis had pulled them back to regroup, switching the command of his armies from one Titus Drautos to a newer, younger man - one who hadn’t seen fit to turn on Regis, taking his legions with him and joining the Empire, biting the hand that had fed him for so many years.

In light of Drautos’ betrayal, Noctis needed to learn to fight now more than ever. Ignis had taught him well over the years. But his talents ran to teaching things like philosophy, mathematics, history, rhetoric. Martial arts and swordplay hadn’t been part of the deal his family had struck with the Caelum’s when it had been decided that Ignis would tutor the emperor’s young son.

Not that Ignis couldn’t defend himself - he could handle a blade, if need be. But this sort of training required someone who was used to fighting on a regular basis, fighting with all sorts of weapons, someone who was used to teaching others how to fight.

Someone like the gladiator currently stalking about in the ring.

Ignis grabbed for the chilled wine he’d been handed earlier, sipping at it as he studied the man down on the sand. He was tall and well-muscled, a small leather skirt around his waist. Surprisingly, there was no helmet atop his head, and nothing to protect his legs - his shield too was gone. What sort of gladiator was this man, he wondered? He didn’t seem to fit into the usual categories. His chest was bare, exposed even, glistening in the hot morning sun, and there was but one weapon in his hands. 

Typical gladiatorial vanity, he supposed, the man likely trying to show off.

His pride might not have been entirely unwarranted, however. Ignis watched, impressed despite himself, as the man danced around the coeurl he was fighting. He moved quickly for his size, tapping the animal with his wooden weapon whenever it got too close. Smart, that - using wood. Coeurls were known for their ability to harness lightning; metal would have only proven conducive to its purposes - namely, getting the gladiator on his back and ripping his throat to shreds, if its arched back and hissing were signs to go by.

The man seemed unfazed, feet planted wide in the sand, eyes following the creature’s every move.

“He’s good,” a man to Ignis’ right commented, leaning towards the woman hanging on his arm. “Very good - tell me, dearest, have we seen him before?”

“I doubt it,” the woman replied. She reached forward, plucking a grape from a silver bowl and popping it into her mouth. “That’s Gladiolus Amicitia.”

“Clarus’ son?”

“The very same. And you know these Amicitia men, dear one - they never leave their school.”

The man rumbled in agreement. “Not since-”

“Gods!”

Ignis looked back to the arena, the woman’s sharp cry echoed by a roar from the crowd. The coeurl had leapt towards the gladiator, claws extended, razor sharp teeth glistening. But at the last possible moment, the man had dodged out of the way, bringing the flat end of his weapon down across the animal’s powerful thigh. It spun, hissing at him, preparing to leap again.

In one fluid movement, he jumped backwards, falling down into a crouch - almost as if he were teasing the beast, urging it after him. The coeurl’s tail flicked back and forth angrily, front paws kneading the sand.

It was clear what the gladiator was doing - he was luring it backwards, towards a giant metal cage in the center of the arena. Even the coeurl must have sensed the impending trap, for it hesitated to come any closer to the man. He would have to find a way to entice it forward.

He took a step forward, testing the animal’s boundaries. It swatted at him with one paw, just barely missing his arm, and he quickly sidestepped out of the way. The movement brought him closer to the coeurl, and it eyed him warily. Still, it refused to move from its perch, sensing that that path would lead to its capture.

Ignis took a sip of his wine, beginning to grow bored with the spectacle. Twenty minutes had passed, and the gladiator was no closer to getting the coeurl into the cage than he had been at the beginning of the bout. He _was_ impressed that the man had managed to avoid getting himself killed - the coeurl was a nasty one by all accounts, and the gladiator’s armor was, well, impractical at best. But avoiding death and winning a fight were two entirely different things, and Ignis had been told to recruit the best.

He hoped this wasn’t a complete waste of his time.

As one, the crowd suddenly let out a shuddering gasp, and Ignis returned his gaze to the arena, wondering what he’d missed. The gladiator was scrambling in the sand, his weapon knocked to the side. The coeurl looked to have jumped over him, body framing the door to the cage. It was stalking back and forth, shoulders hunched, ready to pounce.

The woman beside Ignis flung her hands over her face. “I can’t watch this,” she murmured.

Her lover had the opposite reaction, leaning forward in his seat until he was nearly touching the railing of their little box.

Ignis rather thought they were being dramatic.

Another gasp brought his attention back to the sand. The coeurl had leapt for the gladiator, fangs bared. He had just barely managed to rise to his feet when he saw the animal leap, giving him plenty of time to get out of its way.

Except he didn’t.

Ignis frowned, watching as the man braced himself for the impact. What was he planning, Ignis wondered? To fight it hand-to-paw? Did he think he could outmuscle it?

Neither, as it turned out. As soon as the animal was within his grasp, the gladiator bodily threw it into the cage, his grunt of effort audible even at the height of Ignis’ box. The coeurl screamed in anger, already dashing forward to attack again, but the man was too quick, slamming the cage’s door closed and forcing it back. He turned to the crowd a moment later, raising a closed fist in the air, and the crowd went wild, men and women alike jumping to their feet and cheering for the man in the ring.

The couple beside Ignis were no different. “Brilliant!” the man cheered, raising his hands to his mouth and shouting his pleasure.

“The way he threw that creature!”

“Such strength!”

“And such fearlessness!”

“Truly skilled, that one,” the man said, nodding. “I wonder if he would ever consider switching to a school closer to Insomnia?”

The woman snorted derisively. “Please, dearest,” she replied. “You’ve a better chance of getting a seat at the Emperor’s table.”

Ignis stood, turning to look for the man who’d escorted him to his seat earlier. He was an elderly sort, back slightly stooped and a squint to his eyes - one of the people who had been working with the Amicitia’s for generations, Ignis understood. Jared, he thought his name was. He stepped forward as soon as Ignis turned, gesturing towards the stairs at the corner of the box.

“What did you think, sir?” he asked, quickly falling in step beside Ignis. “Was Gladiolus to your liking? Is he not a superb fighter?”

 _Well, he was certainly something,_ Ignis thought, recalling the gladiator's sheer size. But that sounded like a rude thing to say, especially to one's host, and so he kept it to himself, smiling rather benignly at the man.

“Indeed. I would like to speak with him,” Ignis replied. “Could that be arranged?”

“Of course, sir.” Jared quickly ushered Ignis into a side room on the back side of the amphitheater, urging him to sit on one of the low couches lining the wall. “If you’ll give me but a moment.”

Ignis nodded, arranging his toga around him artfully as he sat. He helped himself to a glass of wine, taking a sip of it to help keep the heat at bay. Gods, but it was hot here - and he had the thought the capital was stifling. Sweat was already beading on his forehead, and he was lounging in the shade. He could only imagine what it had been like down on the sands.

He could see them, if he looked out the nearby window. A group of men were carrying the caged coeurl from the arena, attempting to avoid its claws. It was still spitting at anyone who dared look at it twice, fey yellow eyes murderous.

It was good that the beast hadn’t come to any serious harm, Ignis thought. It was beautiful, striking in the bright light. He’d never much cared for the butchery many gladiatorial schools preferred. It was wasteful, excessive. To find restraint here, this far from the capital, was refreshing.

The door to the room swung open, and Ignis turned, expectant.

“Thanks, Jared - I appreciate it.”

“Of course, Gladio. And will you be needing anything else?”

“Nah, this is great. I’ll let you know when we’re done here.”

The voice was deep and warm - friendly, if Ignis had to hazard a guess as the owner’s character. It set him at ease, even as he waited to see the man’s face.

He didn’t have to wait long, the gladiator walking into the room and taking a seat across from Ignis. He hadn’t changed out of his gear, Ignis noticed, dirt and sweat still streaking his tanned skin. There was a bit of blood at his the side of his face too, dried and flaking. Dark hair was curling around his temples, and he irritably pushed it back as he offered Ignis a cautious smile.

“Hey.”

It was a simple greeting, and completely expected, given the circumstances.

It still made Ignis’ stomach clench up in a way he hadn’t experienced in years. Desire, he realized - sudden and fierce. And for a _gladiator,_ no less. Irritated, he forced the feeling away, trying to ignore the compelling stare the other was giving him.

“Good afternoon,” Ignis replied, nodding his head. “My name is -”

“Ignis.” Ignis blinked, and the man chuckled, grin going sheepish. “Ah, sorry. Jared told me your name.”

“As he told me yours,” Ignis murmured. “Gladiolus, correct?”

The name was like silk on his tongue - he wondered what it would be like to purr it in the man’s ear as he leaned close, kissing at his throat.

“Call me Gladio - everyone else does.” His eyes, pretty eyes, eyes the color of honey, flicked down to the pitcher of wine between them, and he pointed to it. “You mind if I have a drink?”

“Not at all,” Ignis replied. He even pushed a second glass forward, signalling to the man to help himself.

To Ignis’ surprise, Gladio just picked the entire thing up and drank straight from the lip of the container. He drank like a man dying of thirst, and Ignis couldn’t help but stare at the curve of his throat as he swallowed.

Gladio pulled away a minute later, sighing. “That’s better. Sorry - throat gets dry down there on the sand.”  

Ignis fought to keep the smirk from his face. “So I would assume.”

“You’re from Insomnia, then?”

“Of late, yes. Previously, I lived in one of the northern provinces.”

“Never been,” Gladio said, sinking back onto the couch and spreading his arms wide. “Leide’s all I’ve ever known.”

“Maybe one day you’ll get the chance to travel.”

“Maybe.” Gladio shifted, tilting his head questioningly. “So tell me, Ignis. What’s a guy from Insomnia doing out here? Surely the Emperor didn’t send you all this way just to watch me fight?”

“On the contrary, that’s precisely what he sent me to do.”

“Oh?” Gladio shifted, sitting forward. “And did you like what you saw?”

Flirtation - as obvious and blunt as a hammer. Not to Ignis’ style at all.

He found it alluring nonetheless.

“I’d not be opposed to repeat demonstration.” He sipped his wine, enjoying the way Gladio’s honey eyes smoldered.

“I think we can arrange that.”

Ignis did allow himself to smirk this time. “Then I’ve a proposition for you.”  

Gladio grinned, eyes roving over Ignis’ body in a way that wasn’t entirely unwelcome. “I’m listening.”

“It would involve some travel on your part, and a fair bit of fighting.”

“What, you need me to track some guys down for you? Tell someone to back off?”

Ignis chuckled. “Ah, no,” he said. “Nothing like that.”

“What is it, then, Ignis? What d’you need me to do that's so important the Emperor sent you to me?”

Ignis took a deep breath, steadying himself.

“I need you to teach the Emperor’s son how to fight.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this escalated quickly :o 
> 
> A big thank you to everyone who read, left kind words, and/or kudo-ed the last chapter. You guys are the best!

Gladio snorted, lips tugging back into a smirk. “You must be joking,” he said.

“On the contrary,” Ignis replied, “I’m quite serious.”

He said nothing more, continuing to stare at Gladio with that same enigmatic smile he'd been wearing all afternoon. Gladio reached for the pitcher of wine, this time pouring himself a glass. He brought it to his lips, taking a sip, trying to think of something to say.

He settled for an easy question, one Ignis no doubt expected.

“Why?”

“The Emperor wants the very best,” Ignis said. “He would have no other teach his son how to fight.”

“The best,” Gladio said, snorting. “And you expect me to believe that’s me?”

“ _I_ believe it’s you.”

“That’s a load of horseshit, and you know it.” Gladio took another drink, watching Ignis carefully to gauge his response. “You’ve been, what, all over the Empire looking for someone to teach this kid? And you expect me to believe that’s me?”

“You may think it mere flattery, but I assure you-”

“I do.”

“I - pardon?”

“I do think you’re flattering me. Because here’s the thing, Ignis.” He sat forward, setting his glass back on the table between them. “I know what my skills are, and where they put me. I’m good - I’m really good. But I’m not the best there is.”

“You’ve never been beaten in the arena,” Ignis interjected.

“I’ve never been pitted against someone I couldn’t beat,” Gladio retorted. “Would’ve been bad for business, you see.”

“Alright, then - give me their names.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Ignis shifted, taking a moment to arrange the folds of his white toga. The movements caught Gladio’s eye - done intentionally, no doubt, to draw attention to the long, lean lines of his legs. He let himself stare for just a moment before flicking his eyes back up to Ignis’ face. “If you're so convinced that you're not up for the task, gives me the names of the people who could beat you. I’ll pay them a visit, if I can.”

He thought Gladio was bluffing - Gladio could tell by the quirk to Ignis’ lips, by the challenge glinting in his eyes.

But Gladio wasn’t bluffing.

“You want names? Fine. You can start here.”

“Oh?”

“Cor Leonis.”

Ignis made a noise that somewhere between a laugh and a snort. “You and I both know there are certain… complications with asking Cor the Immortal to train the Emperor’s son. As there would be with asking your father to return to the capital, despite his numerous qualifications for teaching people to fight.”

“You don’t think those complications extend to me?”

“You’re a generation removed from the situation,” Ignis disagreed. “And according to my sources, your father has never fully explained things to you. So no, I don’t think those complications extend to you.”

“Your sources?” Gladio repeated, bristling at the mere thought of someone watching him and reporting back to the emperor’s assistants. “And who would those sources be?”

“Men and women I trust,” Ignis replied.

“And their names?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

Gladio snorted. “Of course you aren’t,” he muttered.

“Were you expecting different?”

“No, not really.”

“Then I fear we’ve little more to say on that matter. So then, back to the names of these people you think are better than you. And this time, do try to come up with something plausible.”

“The Emperor’s legion.”

“Pardon?”

“He has a private legion, right?” Gladio crossed his arms over his chest. “From back when he personally led the attacks on Niflheim. Don’t deny it - my father’s at least told me that much, and that’s not even mentioning the rumors surrounding the guy.”

Ignis bowed his head in admission.

“Why not get one of them to teach the kid?”

“They are, ah, occupied on other tasks.”

“All of them.”

“Yes.”

“There isn’t a single one who could come back to Insomnia.”

“That would be impractical, considering how far from the capital they are.”

Gladio huffed, pausing to look out the window. He didn’t like this, not one bit. It still seemed very suspicious to him - out of all the people in the Empire, several hundred thousand of them, he was the one that had caught the Emperor’s eye? He was the one that had been deemed the most able? It seemed like a set-up, to be honest, like he’d been chosen beforehand and this meeting merely a test.

But why?

Why would the Emperor want him to do this? He wasn’t lying when he’d said there were others better than him.

Gladio frowned, frustrated. He didn’t have enough information to guess this out. He didn’t have all the pieces he would need to solve this puzzle.

And yet he needed to come to a decision just the same. Ignis was still sitting across from him, slightly less patient than he had been before if the tapping of his foot against the floor was any indication.

“Gladio.”

Gladio looked back at Ignis, raising an eyebrow.

“Enough of your stalling. What will it take for me to convince you to return with me?” Ignis asked. “What must I do?”

He was desperate. Gladio hadn’t noticed before; the man had hidden it well. But he could see it now, in the tightening of Ignis’ eyes, in the thin line of his lips. There was a bit of strain to his voice as well, a hint of a plea buried beneath the carefully polite tone he was attempting to maintain.

“The position is already one of high esteem. It's quite an honor to be bestowed such a position by the Emperor himself. Is it money you want, then? A title? Political office, or a seat in the senate?”

“Gods, no.”

Gladio shuddered at the mere mention of politics. He’d never been to the capital, it was true, but he’d heard enough from his father and Cor to know he wanted nothing to do with that sort of thing. It wasn’t a life, trying to claw your way up that ladder - tribune, aedile, praetor, censor… it was a nightmare, and once you were in the thick of things, you never got out. Unless, like his father, you were one of the rare few who managed to retire and move away to the countryside. Far more ended up dead of their own ambition, or ruined by corruption and greed.

“Perhaps something more… personal, then? Marriage? Property?” Ignis refilled his glass of wine, though he didn’t take a drink. “The Emperor has a great many connections. I have no doubt something could be arranged for you.”

Gladio shook his head. “That’s - no.”

“Pleasure, then?”

Gladio didn’t answer, uncertain. Did he mean brothels, prostitutes? Or was he offering himself, trying to seduce Gladio? He’d been flirtatious enough before to suggest he meant the latter.

And Gladio definitely wasn’t opposed.

Oh, no.

He knew what he liked and what he didn’t like - and Ignis Scientia fell solidly into the first category.

Ignis looked up at Gladio through his eyelashes when Gladio didn’t immediately reject this last offer, a coy smirk on his lips. “Could I… persuade you to consider my proposal in some other way?” He paused to take a drink of wine, one dark red drop escaping his lips. His tongue darted out to catch it, and Gladio swallowed to ease a suddenly dry throat.

What would that tongue look like, wrapped around his cock? Or those lips, stretched wide around him, swallowing him whole? Pretty, he was willing to bet, Ignis would look _pretty_ that way.

He wouldn’t even bother to take off the toga. He’d just let it pool around Ignis’ waist, framing those slim hips as he-

Gladio cleared his throat, not bothering to hide it as he palmed his interested, half-hard cock through his leather armor. Ignis’ eyes zeroed in on the motion, breath audibly catching in his throat, and Gladio smirked. He wasn’t the only one affected, then.

“What are you suggesting?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Ignis replied. His voice was breathy, Gladio noticed, and he hadn’t stopped staring at Gladio’s hand, still resting idly atop his cock. “I was merely suggesting that were you to return to the capital with me, there are… certain parties as interested in you as you are in them.”

“How interested?”

Gladio curled his hand around the hard press of his length, allowing himself a low, shaky exhale.

The noise Ignis made in response wasn’t quite a moan - but only just.

“Very,” he said.

It was an enticing offer, yes - but not quite enough to persuade Gladio. Not without getting to the bottom of things, first. 

Abruptly, he rose to his feet, making his way to the door. Behind him, he could hear Ignis shifting, and he smirked to himself, sensing the annoyance in the other’s movements. Sure enough, when he looked back over his shoulder, Ignis was frowning up at him.

"Is that a yes?" he asked. 

Gladio winked, pushing the door open and stepping out into the hall.

“I’ll let you know."

* * * * *

“You knew.”

Clarus looked up at him, not bothered by the accusation.

“You knew what this was all about,” Gladio continued. “The fight in the arena, Scientia… you knew they were going to ask me to train the Emperor’s son.”

Instead of denying it, Clarus set down the stylus in his hands, turning towards a wooden box on the other side of his desk. With one simple movement, he flipped the lid and reached inside, retrieving a stack of old, worn papers. He rifled through them for a moment, seeming to look for one in particular. When he found it, he held it out to Gladio in offering.

Gladio took it, looking over the page. It was short, as far as letters went, the writing angular and somewhat cramped. No more than a paragraph, he read the contents in under a minute.

“You’ve been talking to him… the Emperor.”

“The war is going badly, Gladiolus,” Clarus said calmly. “Lucis is losing.”

“That’s impossible,” Gladio said, shaking his head. “The legions, the Crystal’s magic… and the gods are on our side.”

“Are they?” Clarus shot back.

Gladio frowned. “Of course they are,” he said. “If they weren’t, we would have lost by now.”

“Niflheim’s ruler, Iedolas, claims the Infernian has come to him in visions,” Clarus said. “He wants to help them defeat the scourge that is Lucis, wiping us from the land as if we never were. There’s a man among them, too - sent by the fire god himself, to help them achieve this. A great warrior, they say, and a mage. One who can use the same magic the Emperor possesses.” Clarus gestured to the letter. “Regis told me himself.”

Gladio sat down heavily, leaning back against the chair for support. “I didn’t think you two spoke anymore. Bad blood, you said.”

“It’s a recent development.” Clarus shifted, holding his hand out for the letter. Gladio gave it to him, hand falling limply into his lap as he waited for an explanation. “I first heard from him six months ago. He was… worried.”

“About the war?”

“The war, his son… more recently, about Drautos’ betrayal. He wanted my advice, as a former general. He asked me what I would do, in his situation.”

“And you gave it to him,” Gladio guessed.

“Of course I did,” Clarus snapped. “My argument was with Regis, Gladiolus - it was personal. But he came to me with questions about the empire’s survival, about how best to attack this foe. He’s desperate for ideas, frantic to find a way to salvage this war. I hardly think it wise to let old feelings and prejudice get in the way of the potential safety of hundreds of thousands of people.”

“And Cor?”

Clarus paused a moment, and then nodded. “Cor agreed with me,” he said. “And he knows - I haven’t hidden anything from him about this either, if that’s your next question.”

Gladio snapped his mouth shut, because of course, it had been.

“At one point, Regis mentioned that he was looking for someone to train his son,” Clarus continued. “Why he never had the boy trained as a child, I’ll never know. Be that as it may, he’s decided to have him learn to fight. And so again, he wanted my advice. Who could train him, he asked, with patience and skill? Who would protect him until he was ready to fight on his own? Who could come to care for him as a brother in arms?”

Gladio shifted in his seat. “And what did you tell him?”

Clarus looked at him for a long moment, pale eyes unreadable. “I suggested you.”

Gladio let out the breath he’d been holding. So that was it then - his suspicions were confirmed. The fight with the coeurl had merely been the final test to see if he was as good as his father claimed.

And apparently, he’d passed.

“You don’t have to accept,” Clarus said. “There are other candidates - men and women I knew from before, people I hand-selected and trained. But were you to accept, the position does have its perks - an income, naturally, and a set of rooms in the imperial palace. Status, too-”

“I don’t care about that,” Gladio muttered.

“You might, when you no longer have mine to reply upon,” Clarus snapped. A moment later, he sighed, running a hand over his face. “That was harsh of me, Gladiolus, I-”

Gladio shook his head. “No, you’re right.”

He’d always taken it for granted, he supposed - that he would have something to do with his life. For as long as he could remember, his father had maintained this gladiatorial school, the one their ancestors had founded centuries ago. Gladio had always assumed that one day, when his father was too old to continue doing so, he would take over that position. And he would - of that, he had little doubt. His father had been training him for leadership since he was a boy.

But people didn’t simply come to the arena to watch the fights.

No.

Part of the allure was Clarus himself.

People wanted to get a glimpse of the former general, still strong and fierce and proud after all these years of elected exile from the capital. A bit of a rogue, he was still the famed hero of the Battle of the Quay, when he’d set a thousand enemy ships on fire, raining destruction down on them from the shores of Galdin. The masses were in awe of him, enamored with a man they knew only through rumors. They came in hopes of hearing him speak, of getting a glance at him, daring to wish that he’d take to the sands himself and vanquish a foe.

Gladio, for all his youth and charm, didn’t have that appeal. He hadn’t earned it, and the family name would only get him so far.

It was up to him to make a reputation for himself. If he wanted to continue to draw in large crowds, he would have to find a way to do so.

And this appointment to train the Emperor’s son was just that.

He knew it, Clarus knew it, Ignis had suggested it earlier when he’d made his proposition. This was Gladio’s key to success - if he took it.

“I guess I don’t really have much of a choice here, do I?” he asked, looking back at his father.

“You can reject the proposal.”

“Only an idiot would do that,” Gladio retorted.

Clarus shrugged, not disagreeing.

“When do I leave?”

“In the morning. You and Scientia will return to the capital together, where you’ll meet with Regis and his son. His training is to begin immediately.”

Gladio nodded. “I’ll need to get my things then.”

“Take whatever you wish from the stockroom,” Clarus said. “And anyone that you wish to accompany you. You’ll need your friends to protect you.”

Gladio ran through a list of his friends in his head, trying to decide which would be most eager to accompany him. He wouldn’t force anyone to go, of course. That was their decision. But surely some would be less hesitant than others.

There was Amara, yes, she’d go with him in a heartbeat. And Gaius, he’d always said how he wanted to move out of the country. Portentia, too, and Marcus. Brutus was out of the question - he and his wife had just had a child, and Julia had one on the way. And then there was Iris, much too-

He paused, frowning.

Iris.

Shit.

“What about Iris?” he asked.

Clarus nodded, as if he’d been expecting the question. “I’ve asked Cor to take over her training,” he replied.

It made sense. Cor was just as good of a taskmaster as Gladio was - better, actually, considering he’d been the one to train Gladio. He’d be hard on Iris, demanding more of her than Gladio had, but it would be good for her. Cor was matchless with a blade, a bona fide battlemaster.

Still, the thought of someone else taking his place, as if he’d never been there at all…

He’d miss her. More than anything else here, _anyone_ , Gladio knew he’d miss Iris the most. She wasn’t just his sister, but his closest friend. She kept him levelheaded when all he wanted to do was shout his frustration to the sky. She kept him laughing when all he wanted to do was brood.

How was he going to tell her good-bye?

“It isn’t permanent.”

His father’s voice was surprisingly gentle, and the words sounded odd, coming in his rough, gravelly baritone. Gladio was surprised at how much they comforted him.

“I know,” he said, nodding.

“She’s strong, your sister,” Clarus continued. “Steel cloaked with velvet.”

Gladio snorted. “She’s stronger than all of us.”

Clarus actually cracked a smile at that.

“I don’t doubt it, Gladiolus. I don’t doubt it.”

* * * * *

Ignis was just preparing to retire for the evening when he heard a knock at the door.

Frowning, he stood, drawing his robe a little tighter around his frame. Who could it be, he wondered, at this hour? It was bordering on impropriety.

He strode across the room carefully, wondering if he’d need to use the knife he had belted to his waist. He hoped not - it wouldn’t leave a very good impression of him if he left a body in his wake. Nor would it speak particularly well of his hosts, if he were to be attacked while a guest under their roof.

He needn’t have feared - or at least, he didn’t think fear appropriate, when he saw who was on the other side of the door.

“Gladio,” he said quietly, relaxing. “May I help you?”

“Sorry to bother you so late. Can I come in?”

Ignis stepped aside, ignoring the thrill that shot through him at the thought of having Gladio in such close quarters while he was in a state of dishabille. Had he done it on purpose, Ignis wondered? He certainly wasn’t trying to pretend he wasn’t interested, warm eyes wandering over Ignis’ skin.

Ignis pushed the door closed, sinking back against the wood. “Have you something you wish to tell me?” he asked.

Gladio’s eyes drifted up to his face. “I’ll do it,” he said.

“Pardon?”

“I’ll teach the Emperor’s son how to hold a sword.”

Ignis let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his relief likely palpable. “Wonderful,” he breathed. “I’m glad to hear of it.”

“We’ll leave tomorrow?”

“With the rising of the sun.”

Gladio nodded. “I’m taking a few people with me,” he said quietly.

“Naturally,” Ignis agreed. “And have you any pack animals?”

“Couple donkeys,” Gladio admitted.

“Very well. We’ll meet at the entrance to the city at first light. We’ll want to leave as quickly as possible - it’s a week’s journey to the capital.”

“We making any stops along the way?”

Ignis shook his head. “The Emperor is most anxious for Noctis to begin his training.”

“And the kid? He so eager?”

“Ah, not quite.”

Gladio lifted an eyebrow. “What am I getting into here, Ignis?” he asked. “I’ve agreed to help - but what’s the kid like? Rich, spoiled brat? Arrogant, moody?”

“Noctis is… quiet,” Ignis replied. “A little reserved. Shy, some might even say.”

“Let me guess - never held a sword in his life.”

“No, but that isn’t entirely his fault.”

“Oh?”

“There was an accident when he was younger,” Ignis explained. “He was attacked, Gladio. It left him severely wounded, comatose, even. For a long while, it was feared he wouldn’t survive.” He sighed, the memories of that time painful to him even now. “The Emperor was fearful to push him after that, not wanting to force him into something he wasn’t prepared for. Now, however, with war looming…”

“He doesn’t have a choice,” Gladio finished. Ignis nodded, and Gladio let out a sigh. “Well, I can work with that. It won’t be easy though - he’s what, twenty? Learning to fight that late puts you at a disadvantage. Getting the stances down, building up that muscle, training yourself to read your opponent’s movements… it’s all harder when you don’t have years of time to practice.”

“Understandable,” Ignis said. “Nevertheless, it is something he needs to learn if he wishes to protect himself.”

“Agreed.” Gladio eyed him for a second, his gaze lingering at the knife at Ignis’ waist. “And what about you? You know how to fight?”

In a flash, Ignis had pulled the dagger from its sheath and flipped it so that the blade was aimed at Gladio's throat, catching it neatly by the hilt. “I’m perfectly capable of defending myself,” he said lightly, twirling the blade between his fingers for emphasis. “I may not be a soldier, but I learned how practical self-defense could be at an early age.”

Gladio grinned at him. “I’ll have to get you in the ring sometime,” he said. “See what you can do.”

Ignis didn’t miss the flash of heat in his eyes.

“Is that a euphemism, or are you speaking plain?” he asked, setting the weapon aside.

Gladio’s grin deepened. “Take it however you want,” he said.

Ignis chuckled, allowing himself to take a step closer. “Well, I must admit, given your rather sudden departure this afternoon, I’m not quite sure how to interpret anything you say, Gladiolus.”

Gladio moved, pressing into Ignis’ space. Ignis swallowed, holding his ground even as he had to raise his gaze in order to maintain eye contact. Arousal burned through him like fire, pooling hot between his legs.

“How do you want to interpret it?” Gladio asked.

He was so close - Ignis could practically feel the heat radiating off him. He hadn’t bathed since earlier, either, still smelling of the arena - leather, steel, blood, sweat. It should have been disgusting. Instead, Ignis found it intoxicating.

“My proposition still stands,” he replied.

Gladio put a tentative hand on his arm, wrapping large fingers around Ignis’ bicep. “Thought that was just an attempt to sweeten the pot,” he murmured.

“It was.”

“But I’ve already said yes.”

Ignis’ eyes flashed, and he allowed himself a little smirk. “Then consider it an incentive to stay on as a member of the Emperor’s household,” he drawled.

Gladio’s eyes were dark with desire, and for a second Ignis thought he was going to kiss him. But then he stepped back, releasing his hold on Ignis’ arm, instead running a hand through his hair. Ignis tensed, wondering if he’d made a misstep. But then Gladio chuckled, and he relaxed.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, “Should I ever need reminding.” He took a step towards the door, slow and cautious. Ignis had half a mind to reach out and stop him, pulling him in close so he could breath in the smell of him, feel the hot, solid weight of him in his hands. He hesitated, biting his lip, even as Gladio shot him a knowing sort of look. 

"Good night, Ignis," he said, his warm, rough voice going straight to Ignis' groan. Gods, but the way Gladio said his name...

The door clicked shut, and Ignis was suddenly alone once more - alone and aching for touch, positively burning beneath his robes.

He shrugged out of the garments with a groan, cursing himself for feeling so wanton. How long had it been since a stranger had caught his eye this way? Months? Years? He closed a fist around his length, stroking a few times, hissing as his fingers lingered at the head of his cock.

Years, he decided. It wasn’t often he gave into temptation. He was normally quite restrained, capable of keeping his private lusts at bay.

Not with Gladiolus, it would seem.

If he hadn’t been so aroused, he might have felt annoyed at how eager for this he was. As it was, he was already close to shattering, bucking up into his fist as he sought a quick, hard release.

Afterwards, he fell back onto the bed, wiping himself clean with a scrap of cloth.

 _So quickly,_ he thought, _and he hasn’t even touched you yet._

Yet - an implication that there was something still to come. Fire coiled anew in his belly at the thought, but he pushed it away, rolling onto his side and draping him robe over his nudity. For now, he needed sleep, and tomorrow, he would need to focus on getting them back to Insomnia in one piece. It was a dangerous road to the capital, filled with bandits and wild animals and all other sorts of accidents just waiting to happen. He would need his wits about him if they were to safely make it back.

But afterwards…

He chuckled to himself, recalling the passion with which Gladio had fought on the battlefield. Was he like that in bed, he wondered?

Ignis shuddered, pressing his face into the sheets.

Gods, he hoped so.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> As always, kudos/comments are much loved and appreciated :)


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